Thursday Night Club

One of the things I hate about my job is that you think you've a bit of free time, plan to make the most of it and then it's suddenly whipped away from you with an emergency cover for a last period of the day, year 9 Spanish lesson. Luckily one of the things I love about my job is that I work with some amazing colleagues who then bail you out.

So it was that I arrived at Mike's in time for Fat Rascals and a brew before the three of us headed for Horton. What a difference a weekday makes. I'd been here at the weekend and it had been packed with Three Peakers, now we could park right next to the start of our footpath.

It was a beautiful evening as we walked up the Pennine Way to the cross roads, Curlews calling their mournful cry. Taking a route intersecting the two paths through a bit of tussocky moorland then brought us to Little Hull pot.

A short stooping section inside the entrance brought us quickly to the crawl. It's not a bad crawl as these things go and without tackle sacks you'd hardly notice it. Unfortunately we all had to navigate a bag along it but, dues paid, we were soon enjoying an increasingly impressive streamway. At the pitch Mike had tied into the first bolts but then extremely kindly asked if I'd like to rig. Having read that there were some interesting situations ahead I quickly accepted his offer. The pitch became interesting straight away with a swing through a window into a parallel rift followed by a short traverse to another y-hang. Up to this point things had been flowing well but search as I might I couldn't find the next deviation. Fortunately as Tony descended he was able to rectify this for me. It's on the same wall as you're descending and out to your right if facing said wall.

Approaching the second pitch I was glad I'd read the, as ever, excellent CNCC description and ignored the lower bolts, instead following a rising line up to a shelf. Through a window from the shelf I could see the y-hang and rigged the traverse line to a an intermediate bolt just the other side of the orifice. Secured by my cowstails I was then able to defenestrate myself and reach across the void under tension to rig the main hang. And what a hang. This is a great pitch. Beautifully fluted, stunningly proportioned and with a couple of dazzling white formations to finish it off. The fact that there was no way I was going to make it to the second deviation didn't bother me at all, I was just awed by my surroundings.

Tony soon arrived and at the base of the pitch with the next rope and we were soon down the next short pitch to the streamway. A quick scuttle brought us to a decision point, to duck or squeeze. The CNCC description for this pot has a few phrases that are pretty Cooperesque (those who've ever followed a Mike Cooper description in Not for the Faint Hearted will hopefully know exactly what I mean) and of the squeeze suggest that, "Cavers who are big-boned, gym-addicted, or over-enthusiastic about food may struggle". I wouldn't describe myself as big-boned, I haven't been to a gym in years and though I'm quite partial to a bit of cake, thought I'd give it a go. For me there were three tight sections, one straight away lead to a flake that then then needed to be stood up on. A second on a downward traverse from this point and then on a final drop back into the streamway. I was definitely glad I'd limited myself to a single Fat Rascal earlier.

With the full team through we carried on down stream to a section that reminded us of trips in Cantabria with any "up" points pre rigged with extremely handy rope of dubious provenance. The exposed traverse that followed one of the climbs also benefited from an in situ line and brought us safely to the final pitch. It's worth noting that unlike the rest of the cave so far, this pitch does have some loose material on it.

Following the stream again and with one final up, again with fixed rope, we emerged into a chamber where the character of the cave changes. The clean, solid and pale limestone is replaced by black and yellow shale and a sloping sandy floor that leads back down to the stream and the final ominous sump pool. I'm always in great awe of the people for whom this point marks the start of their journey, the cave to this point merely acting as a prologue.

With the sump marking the mid way point of our journey it was time to turn around and retrace our steps. It does worry me that from the sump back to the final pitch the only foot prints were ours, all sign of previous travellers having been washed clean by flood.

At the downstream end of the sum we decided we were going to go for the full Little Hull experience and having enjoyed the squeezes on the way in we wanted to sample the duck on the way out. It is significantly quicker as it allows SRT kit to remain on and, for suitably attired cavers, not too bad at all my head remaining out of the water all the way.

Any chilliness from the duck was soon dispelled on the pitches and I was definitely properly warm by the time I'd finished pushing my tackle sack along the entrance crawl. We emerged into a stunning night, the bulk of Pen y Ghent distinguished by an absence of stars. It was though significantly cooler than when we entered the cave, a thin layer of frost shimmering on the bags we'd left at the entrance.

Arriving back at the car in Horton we discovered it wasn't Thursday anymore and we'd definitely missed last orders. Fortunately Mike's bar has not only far more liberal opening times but also a mind reader of a host serving each person's desired tipple without even having to ask. Squeezes behind us there was no issue with the accompanying cookies either.

Little Hull really is a fantastic pot and I can't believe I've made it to this point in my caving career without a visit. It has everything a classic Yorkshire pot should have, condensed into a trip perfectly suited for an evening visit.